Phew - that was close - I thought for a minute that the clothing would look ridiculous. I spent the afternoon sawing a white oak felled by Hurricane Hanna, knee deep in poison ivy, in the heat and humidity, and wouldn't you know it - that was exactly the outfit I was wearing.

"Palin is already playing the image game like a pro. When Sen. John McCain accepted the nomination Thursday night, she wore a black satin jacket that dipped just low enough in front so you could see some cleavage. In this political marriage, Palin clearly knows she's the trophy."

"Her hair is a study in contrasts, carefree and "done" at the same time. The untidiness of her updo has a can-do spirit that says, "I have more important things to do than worry about my hair, so I just twirled it into this clip so I could get to the real business of governing and shooting caribou and having babies and taking them to hockey practice."

"The bouffant in the front, which appears to be teased from underneath, is more traditional, to appeal to the GOP base and those big donors from Houston who've been known to fly with their hairstylists on their private planes. And yet, you get the feeling that at the end of the day, she could shake out that lustrous mane (longer than any other major female U.S. political figure's) and get it on with her man.

Bill Cunningham, the photographer narrating the slideshow in the second link, used to be my neighbor in the Carnegie Hall studios. Glad to find out that they haven't driven him out of the building yet, as they did with almost all the other tenants.

If Europe's impending crackdown on "gender stereotyping" results in everyone wearing identical blue jumpsuits thus putting an end to the fashion industry, and removing nonsense like these Little-Lord-Fauntleroy-on-lysergic-acid-rummages-in-the-remnant-bag outfits from the face of the Earth, along with the dour, prissy, unhealthy little coke-siphons that trot around in them, I'll be happy.

As the Ghost of a Gentleman, dead these 260 Years and more, you may imagine at the Changes I have observ'd in Fashion and Cloathing. Nay, you know too well this Topick that I habitually pitch upon. But before I discourse upon the very odd Cloathes shewn in the Pictures you append, I must say a few Words upon your distract'd Commonwealth, that is, the odd Condition of the United States of America.

Pray, Madam, do not take it amiss that I have seem'd to neglect my Duties as Surveyor of Lunaticks for this, your Theatre of Topicks (as I call it); for there are such Numbers of Lunaticks abroad, both in and out of your Theatre, that I confess there is nothing my paltry Powers can perform, but stand agog at the Legions of Madmen, advancing en masse, as 'twere, upon your Politicks, and, ineluctably, your own Theatre.

They seem to have sprung entire from the Forehead of some invert'd Zeus, inspir'd by the unaccount'd Powers of Mr. Obama & 'specially Mrs. Palin to drive both Reason & Truth from Publick Discourse. These Lunaticks are afflict'd with every ris'n distemper'd Humour, rendering their diseas'd Brains unfit for any Use, save endless Scribblings & Rants, imagining they would drive the Success of one Faction or Another.

Rational & well-bred Persons may look ascance at these latter-day Whigs & Tories, behaving no better and likely worse than they did in my Day, empower'd, as they are, by the Internet. I confess that I cannot but tremble, after my ghostly Way, for the Future of your Country, with such unworthy Politicks & false Sentiments assailing the Citizens of a formerly manly Nation, founded as 'twas upon the Maxims of British Liberty, the first of which ought to be Restraint.

This was lately taught in my Day by Memories of Civil War, the Regicide of King Charles the Martyr, the Commonwealth, the so-call'd Glorious Revolution, and the miserable Age of Vituperation that follow'd. 'Tis a very dangerous Thing, Madam, with such nightmarish military & civil Power gather'd into the Hands of your Republick (as we could only dream of in my Age), to allow distract'd, nay mad Politicks to burrow, like so many Worms, into the Timbers of your Ship of State. 'Tis not an Exaggeration to say that the Fate of the World depends upon the keeping of this Vessel in Repair. The History of Republicks provides a thousand Examples of Decay & Failure, from which even the most indolent Student of Politicks could not fail to draw sombre and perhaps urgent Lessons.

I commend to your Audience the famous Story of how Rome was thrice gull'd by Caesar, whose chief Care was to avoid Downfall at the Hands of his Enemies by appearing at the Gates of Rome at the Head of an Army. I especially commend this to Sen. Biden and Mrs. Hampsher, both of whom seem to be possess'd of Ignorance that would embarrass a Schoolboy and frighten a Statesman.

I see that I have tak'n up more than my Due of the Audience's Time & Patience. Pray, forgive me if I neglect the Topick of odd Cloathes for at least this Epistle, and return to it perhaps on another Occasion, when my poor Spirit is better able to oblige the Publick, as well as the charming impressaria of this House, with a lighter & more airy Discourse as befits the intend'd Topick.

Assuring you that, as a disembody'd Spirit, I have no Choice but to remain light & airy in Substance, and shall continue tho' the World ends, I am,

Is that the new negative refraction material (that Instapundit linked a little while back) made into camouflage gear for urban warfare? Or maybe it's psychological warfare meant to make our enemies die from laughter.

I hate to admit it, but I thought of that scene in the movie Slapshot (written by a woman, by the way) where Paul Newmamn's character says:

Reggie Dunlop: You know, your son looks like a fag to me. Anita McCambridge: I beg your pardon? Reggie Dunlop: You better get re-married again, or he's gonna have someone's cock in his mouth before you can say Jack Robinson. Anita McCambridge: How dare you! How dare you!

I am pleased, Sir Archy, to see that you are still rendering pure English prose, the likes of which have not been seen since the days of Mr Johnson (and I refer not to that scurrilous knave who ruled from "la Maison Blanc" after the gallant knight from Camelot was so cruelly murder'd).

They say (or used to) that "clothes make the man". (The oldest source I could find for that is "Latin proverb": "Vestis Virim Facet". (Though there doesn't seem to be a lot you can do with a toga.)

Anyone who says "westis wirim .." gets a pie in the face.

A related quote comes from Sir Walter Raleigh (with whom Sir Archy may have coresponded). (Before reading it, keep in mind the age in which Sir Walter penned it.)

"No man is esteemed for gay garments but by fools and women."

This is known as "timeless wisdom".

The hard part of those so-called "fashion shows" is finding people willing to make fools of themselves in public. On the other hand, maybe there's a special drug the "designers" use on the models. It makes them think they're wearing a black-tie tuxedo, with a Beretta in a shoulder holster.